F-Zero Fanfiction
by ZapsK
Summary: I apologize for the abrupt ending, my only excuse was that it was a school project and that's all I had made. To be honest I just wanted something to post real fast since this is my first account and all and I'm already knee deep in a new project. I appreciate any criticism even if you wanna bash it for not being very good; I'm new to this sorta thing...


**Grand Prix**

They live for the race. Money, Fame, Glory, Freedom, whatever it may be every personality is ruthless, to win is to live. Each contestant must tame their own beast of a vehicle, the slowest of which reaching 600 Kilometers per hour. Vehicles are equipped with a G-diffuser system to move around the death defying courses, never losing any speed no matter which direction you may be driving. Up, down, forwards backwards, any direction is possible, who needs wheels in this day in age. Racers of all shapes, sizes, and species come to earth to race; after all, earth is the number one tourist planet in the Milky Way Galaxy. Whoever may be behind the wheel will find their followers, to the powerful and ruthless to the quiet and cool, the F-Zero races is the most popular sport around. No one really cares why someone races except for one man, Flint Mason has been an avid fan of the F-Zero races for many years but a mysterious figure registered as Hikari partakes in the races, what is his motivation, why is he so mysterious? Does he have something to hide?

**Episode 1: Blood Brothers**

The crowds were roaring in the stadium, yet their screams couldn't drown out the blaring engines on the track; each speeding behemoth floating, rushing, soaring across the track, blazing through the twists and turns of the track. One moment you could be first in line, the next in a barrage of flames, nose diving off the track. The holographic face of the announcer greets the racers at the starting line and relays the countdown. Three, start to sweat, breathing harder. Two, grip the wheel, grit your teeth. One, rub the gas pedal and lean forward. GO, exhausts blare and rocket fuel burns at the speed of light, screaming, propelling the racers forward, 100, 200, 300 Kilometers per hour, gods of speed rush at break neck speeds. Thirty racers, gnawing, clawing at each other's for a chance to be named number one. Two racers, a bulbous man in a white suit donning a familiar black Italian mustache clashes, sparking metal with another racer with spiked up brown hair, green sunglasses and a white vest; both competitors clenching their teeth trying to send one another flying off the track. The two twist their steering wheels causing each metal beast to spin and crash into one another earning both of them participation medals for both machines halt in flames. Half of the audience launch off from their seats in awe of the racers almost immediate disqualification. In-between the commotion, F-Zero fan Flint Mason watches the race intently. "Come on, come on." He whispers under the harsh crowd. "Where are you I can't see you." The camera feed relays one of the racers in the back gaining speed. Flint laughs under his breath "There you are…" 17th place, 16th place, 15th place, slowly but surely the steel heathen makes its way up the ranks. 'Here comes the hard part!" The announcer wails. "Will our contestants be able to overcome such deadly track designs?" Deadly was right, the track cut off leaving a gap several miles down, you can either jump or fall trying. A short propulsion ramp signifies the end of the first part of the track and launches each machine into the air. One after the other they fly off the track, soaring in the air; most contestants played it safe, pulling their noses up to make sure they could gain enough distance to reach the second end of the track. That is except for one daredevil, their nose shooting down speeding them through the gap. Everyone go's silent, the front end smashes the track, bouncing them back up and back down to the track again, first place. The crowd roars at the seemingly imposable happenstance, some laughed, others cursed for losing their bet, no matter where you stood the race was indeed one to remember. Flint shot his fists up into the air, laughing uncontrollably whilst tapping a little ditty with his feet. The racer skids to a halt at the end of the track, flying cameras swoop to gain coverage on the victor. The replay screen flashing the words "Hikari Wins!" and "First Place". The racer releases the latch on the cockpit shooting it open. The crowd applauding, chanting his unofficial name "Swift" He stepped down from his machine and grasped the bottom of his helmet with his finger and pulled it up and over his head revealing his face. His shining brown eyes, bright, intense and uncaring. He seemed rather unfazed from what had happened, as if he knew what he had to do and accomplished it. He walked left down and off the track toward the garage where he was greeted by his mechanic. He gave him a nod and closed the doors, shrouding themselves in solitude once again. No one really knows why he races but everyone knew some burning force, some flaming passion kept him racing, kept him moving; but no one seemed to care I suppose; that is except for Flint still lost in awe in the bleachers. He would always watch Swift intently to see how he pulls off such stunning wins every time he set foot on the track. He triumphs so often, the officials had him moved permanently to the back of the line, yet there he is in front as always. As the racers fled the track, the audience dispersed, retreating back to their average everyday lives. Within the crowd, Flint was glairing intently at the garage. What secrets could be held inside, perhaps Swift is actually a talkative creature, that is if he even speaks English in the first place. Him and his mechanic could be discussing racing strategies in secret or possibly trying to find a way to repair that hole in the wall. Flint tilted his head, there is a whole in the wall. Flint peaked around both his shoulders, no one would miss him if he slipped on through for a quick peek and it's not like someone would come looking for him; he came alone. Step by step, hop by hop, Flint tried his hardest to be as sneaky as possible; slowly but surely the garage came closer and closer until suddenly he could feel the concrete wall on his hands. He pushed his back up against the wall, sliding down its side toward the wall's hole. It seemed much larger up close he was surprised no one had noticed it and repaired it by now. He slid up, close enough for him to peek through. "This is hole is huge!" He thought, tilting his head while looking at it. "I could probably fit my arm through there." He placed his cheek on the concrete and glared through the hole but could hardly see its contents. It was so dark and dim, flint was surprised by how a champion racer's garage could be so dreary. All that illuminated the room were 3 white neon lights, not that there was much to illuminate, all that sat was the machine, a standard wooden table, and a set of tools sitting next to it. Flint removed his face from the cylindrical chamber in disappointment. The trophies weren't even set up in the garage, what does he even do with them, throw them away? With a loud rattle the garage door opened and flint gasped at a force on his throat lifting him off the ground and tossing him upwards. He landed on his backside, dazed and confused, it all had happened so suddenly. He pulled his hand up to his face and shook it hoping to clear up the daze. He hadn't even noticed how dark it became all of a sudden. He looked around in the darkness and noticed he was in the garage! I looked up in shock and saw Swift standing above him. His brown eyes sharp and intense staring at him as he laid on the floor. Growling at the poor fan who thought he could sneak a peak of his idol. The sun shined through the door, and the air was silent and cold.

~ **To be continued**


End file.
